


the gift is in the giving

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Short One Shot, Sweet, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: Leia learns to give gifts from her father. Traditions, both small and large, are passed on.From the HanLeia challenge prompt "gift"
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49
Collections: HanLeia Challenge





	the gift is in the giving

Bail Organa loved to give gifts. It was something that he had been raised to do, a family tradition passed down through the ages. He tried to pass down far more than just presents though. He taught his daughter his family’s traditions of kindness toward strangers, of fighting for what was right, of loving fiercely and bravely, no matter what.

He passed down stories, too. One night, he found his daughter desperately trying to crochet something. Her yarn was tangled and tears shone on her young face. “It’s stupid,” she said, flinging the mess onto her bed. “It’s ruined. It’s all ruined.”

“Shh, my dearest star,” Bail said, coming to sit by her side. “Nothing is ever ruined. Not completely.’

“This is,” she pointed to the project. It looked nothing like the pattern she had worked from. Her mother had made it seem like crocheting, the ancient craft of Alderaan, would be easy for anyone to do. Breha would crochet her way through meetings and state dinners, all the while keeping her focus on events at hand. 

Bail picked it up, running his fingers over the messy work. “It will be a fine hat.”

“It’s a scarf.” 

“Ah. Well, how wonderful then. It is an object that can do both! You have invented something new, Leia. A fine new garment.”

Bail’s gentle humor coaxed a smile from his daughter. He patted her head. “There, there,” he said. “Leia, you must never forget to smile. Even when things are a mess, we can find hope in them.”

“It was supposed to be a present for you.”

“And what a fine one it will be.” Bail replied. “Did you know that the first time I made a present for your mother, I nearly sent her to the meddroids?”

“What did you do, Papa?” Leia leaned forward, her eyes wide.

“I cooked her budin de pan, a farovite desert of my family. Sweet and studded with dried fruits, filled with spices. Your mother,” he paused with a smile, “is allergic to those spices.”

Leia giggled.

“And yet, she married me anyway! The gift is not in the making, but the giving. That which is given with love is more valued than that which is made with expertise and given with reluctance or resent.”

Leia heard the words and remembered them, just as she remembered all the things Bail had hoped to pass along to his daughter.

* * *

  
  


Lightyears and heartaches later, Leia once again was trying to crochet. She hadn’t picked up needle and yarn since the day her father died. She had tied that scar around his shoulders one last time, before he had gone back to Alderaan. Before he had gone home for the last time.

But now, home wasn’t a planet for her. It wasn’t even a battered old Correllian starship, though that was where she slept each night. No, home for her was found only within the arms of a battered, simple, warm former-smuggler, with a rough voice and a gentle heart.

Han had made her smile, so many times, even when nothing else could. Just as her father had once said, there would always be a reason to smile, even when times were dark.

Leia told herself that as she worked, her little metallic needle darting through the yarn, coaxing a pattern out of the coiled shape. She told herself that the yarn, if she worked it well enough, would become some sort of protective net around him, a scarf to keep away more than the cold, but the blaster bolts of stormtroopers too.

She told herself that this simple garment would keep him safe, though her last one had not been able to do the same for her father.

She told herself she would not lose Han, not now, not ever again.

If wool wouldn’t keep him safe, then she would herself, somehow, some way. Love was rare enough to fight for. Her father had taught her that too.

“Whatcha working on, your worshipfulness?” Han asked, sticking his head into the doorway of the tiny bunk space where Leia had curled up with her yarn and her blankets. There was a smear of oil on his cheek and a cut on his hand from the latest repair to the Falcon.

“Nothing!” Leia hid her hands quickly, pulling the blanket up.

“You cold?” Han’s eyebrows knit together in worry. “I know the heating unit’s a bit temperamental. I can get you another blanket, or tea, or--”

“I’m fine, Han.” Leia said, quickly. “I am.”

“You sure?”

“Truly.”

He came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand went out to cup her face, pulling her closer for a gentle, warm kiss. Leia closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. It was so romantic, so sweet, the sort of moment she lived for. Her lips opened under the soft pressure of his kiss, a and her hand went to the back of his neck, keeping him near to her. Her heart thudded loud under the warm blanket. The crocheting was nearly forgotten in the passion of the kiss.

Then, Han sneezed. 

Twice.

“Han?” she asked, patting his back. “You all right?”

“Yeah, just-- _achooo!”_ He sneezed a third time.

“What’s going on?” Leia couldn’t quite figure out this change in him. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m just…” his hand crept forward to pull back the blanket. “What’s this?” he touched the wool. “Is it--” he sneezed, three more times, the third so vigorously he clunked his head against the bulkhead.

“It’s waterbantha wool,” Leia said. It had taken her weeks to track down a source for it and she had spent a good amount of her stash of emergency credits. She had so wanted this to be the nicest gift Han had ever received, one made with love and care just from her. If she’d asked him, he would have told her any gift from her would be the nicest; there hadn’t been many in his life. But she hadn’t, intent on giving it as a surprise. Leia held up the ball of yarn. “It’s nice and warm.”

  
“Ah, yeah. Sure it--- _achooo! Acho!_ \-- sure it is, princess. I’m also--”

Leia finished his sentence for him. “Allergic to it.”

Han smiled, ruefully. Leia leaned in to kiss his forehead. The scarf was forgotten, as tea was procured and the two curled up in the other room, away from the sneeze-inducing yarn. 

And she married him, anyway.


End file.
